


Just Us

by pinescipher



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bottom Dipper Pines, Drunk Sex, Kissing, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multiple Orgasms, Mutual Masturbation, The College AU no one asked for, Top Bill Cipher, everyone insists that things are Remarkably Heterosexual, this is basically just porn with a hint of plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 20:55:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10316789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinescipher/pseuds/pinescipher
Summary: “There isn’t a single person in this bar I want to fuck,” Bill complains while he waits for the bartender to pour him another drink. His golden eyes survey the gyrating mass of people on the dancefloor.“We can always try to find a different bar,” he offers, although he isn’t really sure what Bill is looking for. This bar is packed with people, hot and sweaty and more than a few of them would be willing to go home with him.△△△Or...the one where Bill asks for a hand and everything is Remarkably Straight™ if you just believe.





	

He meets Bill Cipher for the first time in Harris dining hall. They’re only a week into the semester but he’s beginning to think he might never run into the campus golden boy. 

The phrase “his reputation preceded him” is one Dipper often sees in fiction, but in Bill’s case it’s simply reality. 

He starts hearing whispers about Bill the minute he moves into his dorm. He hears that Bill is ridiculously rich, the sole heir to the Cipher fortune. His family supposedly escaped government intervention even though everyone thought there might be something shady going on. The tabloids paint Bill as a shameless playboy, bringing a new girl to bed every night. Rumors seem to be split on whether or not Bill might have paid to get into the school. Some say he’s never studied a day in his life, instead skating by on his other considerable talents.  Others say he’s an elusive genius, the product of private lessons and years of exclusive training.

It’s hard to believe any of that when the boy in front of him is fighting a losing battle with a frozen yogurt machine.

His hand is covered in the dessert, the icy dairy nearly eclipsing the waffle cone Dipper can just barely see in Bill’s clenched fist. Rather than simply giving up as a lesser man might have done, Bill throws away the cone and starts again, only to produce the same disastrous results. 

As amusing as it is to watch the floundering of someone whose net worth surpasses that of Dipper’s entire extended family, he can’t actually leave Bill like this. He sets his tray down at a nearby empty table. 

“Need some help?”

“Excuse me?” Bill says, and his voice is nothing like Dipper was expecting. For some reason he’d been imagining a British accent, or some other posh-sounding tone. 

Rather than waiting for an invitation Dipper removes a waffle cone and leans around Bill’s still form. “Chocolate, right?” he asks. 

It’s mostly a rhetorical question because a single glance down at the frozen yogurt coating the other boy’s hand confirms his preference. With a practiced ease he pulls down the lever on the machine and expertly swirls a medium sized cone. When he’s done, he offers it to Bill.

Bill regards him with a perplexed and vaguely annoyed expression. He drops his own ruined creation into a nearby trashcan and wipes off his hand before accepting Dipper’s offering. “Where did you learn how to do that?” he asks.

“Every summer I work in my great-uncle’s shop. A few years ago he realized he could overcharge people for ice cream cones on hot days, so he started selling them at a premium, and since then I’ve made hundreds.”

“Your great-uncle is a smart man. The world runs on supply and demand. He’s right to capitalize on it.” Bill replies, sounding pleased by Dipper’s account of Stan’s scheming. 

Dipper snorts against his will. He’s intending to let that be the end of it, the final nail in this bizarre conversational coffin, but instead Bill joins him at his table. He looks wildly out of place here, the way a genuine Monet might look if it were scattered among amateur paintings at a garage sale.

Bill tentatively licks at the cone Dipper provided him with. The action gives Dipper a brief reprieve to study the other man, who looks every bit like his Google Image results. Everything about Bill is uncommon, from his golden eyes to his Disney princess blond hair. He’s even  wearing an actual pair of slacks and a black button up shirt, like he had no idea that he might end up in a college dining hall today. Actually, he almost looks like a very young professor. 

After tasting the ice cream Bill makes an unflattering face that he quickly tries to stifle. He shifts his attention to regard Dipper with such intensity that the other boy can practically feel the gaze on his skin as he picks up his cheeseburger. Bill waits until Dipper has taken a bite, chewed, and swallowed before asking: “How can you eat this stuff?”

“What, the cheeseburger?” Dipper asks.

He supposes it's possible that Bill might be talking about the small serving of lukewarm fries he’d grabbed, but he doubts it. Harris is a buffet style dining hall, and what it lacks in quality it more than makes up for in a bottomless mediocrity. Although he’s only been living on campus for a little over a week, it’s already one of Dipper’s favorite haunts. 

“If that’s what you want to call it, then sure, fine, the cheeseburger,” Bill clarifies, his voice dripping with revulsion.

Dipper surprises himself with his laughter. Bill’s assessment may be unkind but it’s refreshingly honest. The people Dipper’s met on campus so far have been a strained kind of friendly, each one so intent on forming as many connections as possible that he feels like friendship is a scarce resource. Everyone is overly eager to sow new seeds but no one is working to cultivate them. He’s been doing his best to be welcoming but it’s been hard without Mabel around. 

“It’s rude to laugh at people, you know.” Bill says, suddenly sounding much more closed off as Dipper’s laughter continues.

Dipper smiles broadly, struggling to control his amusement but not wanting to offend Bill. “I can’t help it, you’re just so serious about it! You looked so disgusted!” 

“This food is  _ genuinely  _ bad,” Bill stresses, as if worried Dipper is misunderstanding the gravity of the situation.

Dipper is still chuckling when he reaches out his hand towards the ice cream cone. “I’ll eat it for you,  so you don’t have to waste it.”

Bill watches him with a calculating expression but hands over the dessert without further complaint. Golden eyes look at him as if this conversation is a game of chess and Dipper has made an unexpected move. It occurs to him, belatedly, that for someone as rich as Bill, the act of wasting frozen yogurt must be an incredibly trivial thing. Still, he doesn’t hesitate before licking a long stripe up the edge of the cone. He knows he’s ruining his appetite but he can’t bring himself to care. He’s bound to fall victim to the Freshman 15 anyway, that’s just his luck, so there’s no reason not to do it with frozen yogurt.

As he licks at the dessert, the silence stretches on. 

“I’m Bill Ci-” the blond begins, but Dipper cuts him off.

“Bill Cipher, I know. You’re apparently kind of famous around here.”

This seems to please Bill, who, Dipper is beginning to suspect, actually possesses an ego as big as the rumors he’s been hearing. “Seems like you have the advantage then,” Bill says, gesturing vaguely in Dipper’s direction.

It’s a simple show of casual control, it’s asking for something without really asking. The gesture strikes him as something powerful people probably do all the time, although he’s rarely been on the receiving end of this kind of thing. Where he comes from, most people just say what they want.

“Dipper Pines.”

Bill smiles like he’s been given something valuable and Dipper is momentarily struck by the way the expression transforms his face into a look of genuine pleasure.

“It’s nice to meet you, Dipper Pines. You have some frozen yogurt on your nose.”

  
△△△

The next three years seem to pass by in the blink of an eye. In that time, he learns what rumors are true, which are partially true, and which ones are outright lies Bill allows to continue because he likes the intrigue. Although it’s only meant to be a chance encounter in a second-rate dining hall, Dipper and Bill become inseparable. 

Bill is nicer than he expects, but he’s not perfect by any means. Dipper likes him that way. He’s spoiled, he’s mercurial, he’s stubborn, and his sense of entitlement is boundless. As flawed as he may be, Bill knows who he is, and he accepts Dipper in return. He brings him out of his shell, pulling him out of his dorm room to parties and acting as his wingman when necessary. In no time at all the two of them had established a reputation, their names written in campus history books. They begin every weekend together, but always return home with new girls. 

The sleeping around isn’t really Dipper’s choice so much as something he fell into. Bill hasn't had a single serious relationship in the entire length of time Dipper has known him, and it had never really seemed important to Dipper to nail down a relationship during college. He cares about his studies, and between academics and spending time with Bill, he isn’t really sure where a girlfriend would fit in anyway.

Yeah, no doubt about it. Sleeping around is infinitely easier.

“What about that girl?” Dipper asks in a crowded bar, his eyes roving toward a statuesque woman with her dark hair cut in a trendy long bob. “She seems nice.”

Bill leans in close enough that Dipper can smell the top shelf whiskey he’s been drinking all night. “First of all, we can’t think of them as people, it gets in the way of what we’re trying to do here,” he says, his hot breath skating over the sensitive skin of Dipper’s neck.

Dipper rolls his eyes. Bill is exaggerating a little, but certainly not as much as he rightfully should be.

There are moments like these, moments when alcohol swims through his veins and his heart thuds a little bit faster, moments that he can see what everyone else sees when they look at Bill. A smiling, dazzling, capricious God who has never been denied a single thing. This thing, whatever nameless thing it is that makes Bill tick, is the same kind of thing that makes bombs explode. It’s only a matter of time before Dipper gets caught in the blast.

His friend surveys the occupants of the bar like dishes he’s considering ordering from a menu. It should make him want to turn away but it doesn't.

Instead it makes him feel strangely proud. Bill Cipher could have anything he wants, and, more often than not, he wants to spend time with Dipper. 

Tonight, Bill is drunk and petulant, an explosive combination if history is anything to go by. Still, he carries himself like a king. His presence alone silently urges freshman out of his way when he moves. He drums his fingers against the dark sticky wood of the bar, perching on a barstool next to Dipper. Although there are beautiful women around he should rightfully be serving, even the bartender lets his attention fall to Bill. Whether that’s the result of his appearance or a history of generous tips, Dipper couldn’t say.

“There isn’t a single person in this bar I want to fuck,” Bill complains while he waits for the bartender to pour him another drink. His golden eyes survey the gyrating mass of people on the dancefloor. 

“We can always try to find a different bar,” he offers, although he isn’t really sure what Bill is looking for. This bar is packed with people, hot and sweaty and more than a few of them would be willing to go home with him.

Nevertheless, Bill pouts. “We always come to this one, and besides, I doubt any of the others will be better.”

Dipper sighs. He’s admittedly been looking forward to the possibility of a one night stand as well. He’s not immune to the desire for human companionship. He likes sharing his bed with sweet smelling girls and soft curves that kiss him awake in the morning and ask if he’d like to get breakfast. Even when he says yes, these nights never turn into anything more. 

“Let’s just go home then,” he says, more willing to admit defeat rather than continue standing around the bar. It’s hot in here and it smells of bodily exertion. 

“Home sounds lovely,” Bill agrees. He’s a surprisingly articulate drunk, although he’s not the most coordinated. It’s as if nature has decided that Bill must never be without his silver tongue, but could live without a basic sense of balance.

“Home” in their case referred to a state-of-the-art apartment complex located all the way across campus. They debate calling an Uber but ultimately opt for walking. The brisk night air does them both some good, and Bill only stumbles twice along the way. By the time they arrive at the front desk, sharing nods with a familiar security guard, they’ve both sobered up just a little bit from the chill. 

In the elevator, Dipper presses the button for the top floor and they begin to rise. This complex itself never ceases to amaze him. In his junior year, when they first moved out of the dorms, Dipper had rented a tiny studio apartment across town. The difference between the locations is like night and day.

He’d been fine with the studio because he could afford it with the money he made each summer at the Mystery Shack. Still, it only took six days before Bill was knocking at his door with an armful of cardboard boxes. He’d rented Dipper a suite in his building because he disapproved of his best friend being so far away. 

“Looks like you got yourself a sugar daddy,” Mabel had teased over the phone later.

At that, Dipper had physically recoiled, grateful she couldn’t see the flush across his features. “It’s not like that, he just doesn’t like to be alone,” he’d protested.

“Neither do sugar daddies,” Mabel supplied unhelpfully.

Once they arrive in Bill’s apartment, Dipper faceplants into the familiar living room couch, feeling dizzy and pleasantly drunk and warm and content.

“Do you mind if I spend the night?” Dipper asks. It wouldn’t be too hard to make the trek to his own room, but the lingering alcohol in his system urges him to set up camp here instead. 

“Course not,” Bill says, wandering toward his bedroom. Out of the corner of his eye he notices Bill begin to strip off his shirt before he disappears from view. The alcohol has his cheeks feeling hot and he’s sure they must be red. Bill always likes to tease him for that. 

“Hey, come here a minute,” Bill shouts from the bedroom.

Without really thinking about it, Dipper obeys. He finds Bill sitting at the edge of his bed with two chilled bottles of water in hand, obviously procured from the mini-fridge. He tosses one across the room to Dipper, a move which would have hit him in the face if it weren’t for sheer luck. Bill chuckles warmly at the surprise on his face, apparently finding the threat of physical harm somehow amusing. 

Both of them are quiet for a moment as they guzzle the water. 

There’s a loud crunching sound as Bill crushes the newly emptied plastic in his hand. “Fuck, I really wanted to get laid. I can’t believe I didn’t bring anyone home tonight,” he complains, flopping backwards dramatically. His messy golden hair fans out beneath his head and for a moment Dipper thinks it resembles a halo.

“It’s completely your own fault you know. You’re too picky!”

Bill pouts.

After a moment Dipper finally snorts and says teasingly: “You’ll get ‘em next time, tiger.” 

He’s still thirsty so he grabs a second bottle from the fridge and joins Bill on the bed while he drinks. 

“What if…” Bill begins slowly. He turns on his side and props his head on one hand, breaking with his sentence to look Dipper up and down. 

He’s curious about where this is going but also distracted by how warm the tips of his ears suddenly feel. He must have had more to drink than he thought.

“What?” Dipper asks, because it’s clear Bill wants prompting.

_ He’s so fucking dramatic…  _ Dipper thinks to himself, amused and draining the last of his second water bottle. 

“What do you say we sleep together instead?” 

Dipper cackles, the sound of it loud and pure. Shock comedy like this isn’t Bill’s usual shtick but he thinks the departure from his normal humor only enhances the effect. It’s the kind of laughter that comes from deep in his chest and slowly reaches outward like a wave that shakes his whole body.

He’s struggling to bring himself under control when the silence of the room and the rhythm of his laughter is broken by the sound of a zipper. He shifts his glance toward Bill and finds him resting on his knees with his pants unzipped and his hardened cock in front of him.

Dipper's mouth goes dry and every neuron in his brain starts firing at once. “What the hell, Bill! Your j-... That’s y-you-....how the fuck can you even be hard right now? You’re kidding, right?” He knows he’s stuttering and he wheels backward so quickly he’s suddenly reminded of everything he’s had to drink. 

He can’t take his eyes off Bill’s cock, emerging from his pants like it’s Moses parting a denim Red Sea. He’s actually almost grateful when Bill flops backward and moves his various body parts from Dipper’s immediate field of view. 

“Why not? I’m seriously horny... ” Bill says, reclining back on his impractical mess of pillows. 

“Then  _ jerk yourself off _ !” 

Dipper isn’t proud of how shrill his voice gets but he’s pretty sure Bill didn’t even notice. Golden eyes flash with indignation and Dipper can’t get over how this asshole manages to look  _ condescending _ with his hardened cock jutting out. “I don’t do that! It would be like I’m wasting something if I was alone.”

“You can’t seriously believe that...” he protests loudly.

“Of course I do!” 

Bill says it with perfect sincerity, which is somehow infinitely worse than everything else that’s happened up to this point. His best friend is a goddamn idiot, but he does look genuinely uncomfortable. He tears his eyes from Bill’s erection to glare at him like he deserves.

This is crazy. It’s stupid and absolutely ridiculous and Dipper’s cheeks are blazing and everything feels too hot and too cold all at once.

“What if I promise to make it worth your while?”

“How the hell are you going to do that?” Dipper asks before he can stop himself, helpless against the challenge in Bill’s tone.

It doesn’t matter anyway. He can’t actually be considering this, can he? This is too much. It crosses at least 37 different friendship lines and shows every intention of crossing even more.

“You’ll have a Cipher in your debt. The sky’s the limit. Have I ever let you down?”

“Yes. Repeatedly,” Dipper says, without hesitation. 

Bill pouts and shifts his position a bit. “I mean, it’s fine if you don’t think you can handle it. We can j-”

It’s a disgusting testament to how well Bill knows him that he doesn’t even wait for the blond to finish his sentence before interrupting: “Fine, just this once. But you have to come quickly. I’m not doing this all night, you asshole. If I think you’re dragging this out, I’m going to stop.”

“You can’t rush g-”

“Five minutes, Bill. And you owe me.” 

Unbelievable. Impossible. Is he really doing this? This is super gay, right? Why would Bill even ask him to-?

He purposely derails that train of thought and for once tries to quiet all the questions in his head through action. He rolls on his side, facing Bill, who is little more than a foot away. He stretches out his fingertips first and just barely trails them over the underside of Bill’s dick.

His touch is slow and tentative and he studiously avoids making eye contact in case Bill is amused by his uncertainty. He finally gathers his courage and wraps his hand around the shaft. It twitches in his hand minutely, and he hears himself let out a small breath. It shouldn’t be possible for Bill to feel this hot. Dipper’s entire body already feels like it’s going to overheat, just from the alcohol and embarrassment, but somehow Bill’s cock is still warmer than he expected.

It all feels utterly foreign, although the motions he needs are similar to the ones he uses on himself. Unlike Bill, he’s not too proud to rub one out if he’s in a dry spell. He starts a slow, languid and steady rhythm, adjusting to the feeling of touching Bill. His skin is surprisingly smooth and desperately warm. Once he determines the best angle to use, he increases his pace. He genuinely doesn’t want to do this for too long and Bill has always been one for instant gratification, so he figures jumping right to the good stuff will be right up his sexual alley.

(Dipper still can’t believe he’s even considering what might be up  _ Bill’s _ sexual alley.)

He has no desire to get fancy with this, wants to keep it as utilitarian as a drunken handjob between friends can be. He’s been with plenty of women who tried to be too gentle with him, and Dipper will be damned if Bill is getting that kind of consideration from him. His grip is firm, just how he likes it himself. With some surprise he finds himself thumbing over the head, the pads of his finger suddenly coated in precum. When he does, he swears he actually sees Bill get even harder. Fascinated, he returns to swipe at the leaking slit again, pressing down just a bit.

“It feels…..really good,” Bill breathes shakily, breaking their silence in a voice that Dipper has never heard before. 

He’s unprepared to handle any kind of commentary here. He refuses to meet Bill’s gaze even though he can tell it’s trained on him because his friend is fucking shameless. Everything is blurry and so warm and Bill’s cock is so hard and hot in his hand. His grasp on the most intimate part of Bill feels like the only thing anchoring him to reality.

It turns out that Bill has no restraint. A life of privilege has left him with no shame when it comes to vocalizing his pleasure, regardless of how embarrassing the sounds are. Every particularly good upstroke leaves him humming slightly, small consistent acknowledgements of enjoyment. 

It’s incredibly distracting.

Dipper concentrates on sliding his thumb methodically over his slit, collecting the seemingly endless precum and spreading it over the considerable length of Bill’s shaft. He applies a little extra pressure on the thick vein that runs beneath the underside of his length and Bill lets out the smallest groan.

“H-have you done this before?” 

The slight stutter, the minute hesitation combined with the feeling of Bill’s cock in his hand -  _ fuck, he’s jacking off another guy, this is not good -  _ suddenly redirects all the available blood in his body. Dipper shifts his leg a little to cover up the fact that he’s at half-mast. If Bill ever finds out that his voice, that fucking voice and its moans and the feeling of his cock, gave Dipper a hard-on, there’ll be no living it down. 

“Of course I haven’t! I just know how to jerk myself off because I’m not a raging narcissist,” Dipper says pointedly, burying his shame in his arousal with as much bravado as he can muster.

He worries that Bill will deduce that the warmth in his cheeks is no longer just from the alcohol. 

Bill reaches out his hand and tangles it in Dipper’s hair. It's such a shock that he actually jumps. His rhythm falters, but he hurriedly finds it again, hoping to escape notice. Fingers tug gently through the dark brown strands, smoothing and petting as they please. It’s a new feeling to be touched by Bill’s deliberate affection. In their years of friendship it’s mostly been handshakes, arms over shoulders, and the occasional ass slap when one of them has too much to drink. It feels somehow impure to think of those times now, while his hand is stroking Bill’s velvet soft cock. Jerking him off is one thing, but no one said Bill was allowed to  _ touch _ .

He tenses up as Bill makes his way from his bangs to the back of his neck. Long cool fingers toy with the sweat-damp hair there, slow and unhurried as an afterthought. How is it possible for Bill to be so collected?

“You’re really red, you know…,” he says, like he’s remarking on the weather, like Dipper’s not still stroking him even as he speaks.

Dipper growls and slaps Bill’s hand away, jerking backward. His face is turning another, more embarrassing shade. 

“Your five minutes are almost up, so either come or finish this yourself.”

Bill’s eyes travel over his newly distant form and he smirks the way he does when he thinks he’s won something. Lightning fast, he moves from his prone position. He presses a hand against Dipper’s chest, forcing him onto his back, then moves to straddle his upper thighs. His treacherous cock is straining in the confines of his jeans and he knows Bill can see it now, knows he’s been caught.

“I’ve got a better idea. You wanna hear it?” Bill asks, seeming to tower above him.

It’s clearly a rhetorical question. His dangerous smile is back in full force.

Dipper’s addled brain struggles to make sense of things as Bill unzips his pants with a heady expression. His hardened cock throbs, demanding payment from the man who so carelessly brought it to attention. 

Bill doesn’t seem the least bit sorry.

He leans over the side of the bed and grabs something from a drawer. Lightning fast, he slicks them both up with lube before Dipper has really processed whats happening. He doesn’t waste time rubbing it in his hands first and the cool temperature of the lube startles him, brings him back to reality. 

The moment when he presses their cocks together and begins to stroke is lost in the sound of Dipper’s keening. Bill’s hands are like brands on his thighs, holding his legs open and around Bill’s hips, fingers practically searing skin. He’s never given much thought to another man’s cock before but in the moment he can’t think of anything else. It feels so good pressed against him. He feels every slight difference between their bodies.

Bill is much closer than before and his fingers find the hem of Dipper’s shirt, pushing it up over his chest. It’s too much for him and the erratic pounding of his heart.

“What are you doing?” he questions uselessly, even as Bill tucks the edge of the shirt up under his chin.

“I’m a gentleman. I’m making sure you don’t get your shirt dirty,” Bill answers practically. He still smells like alcohol but his breath is warm against the newly exposed skin. 

Dipper shivers at the feeling, and at the sight of Bill’s pupils, blown wide with intoxication and desire. He’s stroking both of their cocks now, as best he can.

It feels so good that all he can do is stop and grit his teeth and fight back the pleasure that threatens to gather and make its way outward. The hot, wet slide of their cocks makes the most perverted noise and Bill revels in it, unable to take his eyes away from the point where they’re pressed together.

He can’t help it. Bill can’t capture both of their lengths in his grip. He joins their hands, providing more grounds for communal thrusting. Bill’s answering grin is infuriating. 

“You like it there? Does that feel good?” he asks and Dipper glares at him mightily. Bill must know what his questions are doing to him, must be able to feel the way Dipper’s cock almost pulses with it.

He’s embarrassingly close to the edge already, threatening to topple over it if Bill so much as breathes on him wrong. He hasn’t felt an orgasm approach this rapidly since the first time he had sex, but the situation is more than he can handle. This isn’t a stranger he picked up in a bar, he isn’t buried in a beautiful girl’s wet heat, he’s on Bill’s bed, lying beneath him with hot, slick cocks pressed together. It’s not something he ever could have anticipated and it’s  _ dangerously hot. _

“S-Shut up…” Dipper manages to get out, rocking his hip particularly roughly into the shared channel of their clasped hands.

“Don’t like the sound of my voice? But your face is so red…,” Bill says, smirking. He deliberately loosens his grip, and in Dipper’s current condition this is more than he can take. He needs the friction.

“P-please…,” he gasps out, bucking his hips in search of the lost pressure.

“Please, what?”

He growls, so close to his orgasm now that he can taste it. It’s all he can do to grit out: “Please, Bill…”

Of course, he’s never known his best friend to stop while he’s ahead. Golden eyes rove over his exposed chest. The intensity of the gaze alone is enough to bring his attention to the mounting tension in his balls. Then, without warning, Bill curves his body and leans down to mouth at one of Dipper’s nipples.

It hardens almost immediately at the warm, gentle licks of his tongue. The girls he brings home generally don’t linger here and the feeling of Bill’s teeth lightly nipping the hardened nub does him in.

“Nnhn...Bill!” Dipper cries out, unable to stop himself.

He tries to hold back the wave of his orgasm. This is humiliating, after all. The other man has barely touched him and he might be achingly hard but Bill doesn’t seem to be blowing his load yet. One hand lets go of their cocks in favor of tangling itself tightly in silken hair. He arches his back and hips jerk forward as he paints the space between them with his release. It’s impossible to control and it feels so beyond his comprehension he doesn’t even know how to process it.

His chest is heaving and his face is flushed and the last thing he needs is Bill’s voice. And yet, he always knew he was unlucky.

“Sensitive, aren’t you?” Bill teases, pulling back. He makes the barest effort at looking contrite, but underneath the facade Dipper can tell he’s  _ beaming. _

“You’re an asshole.” 

“Really? Because you sure seemed to enjoy it,” the blond purrs.

He’s not wrong. Dipper can’t remember the last time he came that hard. His limbs are suffused with post-orgasm contentment. Normally he’d be almost completely soft by now, but for some reason his cock is still practically half-hard. 

“Fuck off,” he manages.

Bill looks down at him appraisingly.  “Seems like I’m the one left out here…,” he trails.

“I didn’t ask you for this.”

“No, you didn’t. You begged,” Bill lears.

Anger brings Dipper to life more surely than anything else. “What the fuck do you want from me, anyway?”

It’s safe like this, when the competitive urges rise up. If this is a fight then it isn’t anything else, and it certainly isn’t the kind of thing Dipper will have to spend nights lying awake trying to emotionally unpack. Instead of an answer to his question, Bill cants his hips forward until his hard cock presses against the juncture between Dipper’s legs.

His heart almost stops and he recoils. It’s too much, he can’t possibly be expected to...

“You really don’t want to do something lewd with me, Pine Tree?” Bill asks, before he can even protest verbally. His golden eyes are glinting as he leans in. 

The nickname brings him a sudden, shocking presence of mind. A remnant of their freshman year when Bill discovered his favorite childhood hat. The name has stuck with them like a brand. He’s the only person who has ever given Dipper a nickname, and as insufferable as it is, there’s a part of him that always craves hearing it.

Dipper’s breath is coming more quickly now, panic thrumming in his veins. This is wrong, he knows it’s wrong. They’re both guys and this isn't what they’re meant to do.

“I can’t, Bill. It’s....I’m really not...” he tries to explain himself but this is the best he can do. It doesn't make sense but he doesn't care. He’s not gay and Bill is a  _ man, _ that much is insistently obvious. Besides, the rapidly cooling evidence of his release is already covering the both of them and this is decidedly  _ not  _ what he signed up for.

“I’m not either.” Bill says, smooth and assured, the same way he sounds when he’s making some kind of business deal. He leans forward and whispers in Dipper’s ear, even though they’re alone and there’s no chance of being overheard:  “I’ll make you feel so good, kid. I promise.”

Dipper would usually protest, hates when Bill calls him ‘kid’ like they’re not just nine months apart in age. He still wants to shy away from the touches, from the honeyed tone of Bill’s voice, but it’s like trying to pull away from the sun.

He really needs to get laid more often because Bill’s gentle, barely-there touches, almost have him considering doing something completely ridiculous.

“It’s just me,” Bill says, reassuring. “It’s just you and me.”

Dipper and Bill.

That part sounds familiar.

They’re a team, united against the rest of the world. Memories of the past few years seep into his mind like rain finding cracks in his mental shelter. Bill’s selfishness. Bill’s occasional cruelty. Bill’s irresponsible intelligence. Bill earning his loyalty. Bill supporting him. Bill smiling.

Is this something he wants?

It strikes him suddenly that what he wants and what he can handle may be two entirely different things.

Dipper’s head is spinning and he leans back to rest on the plush comfort of the bed, his unfocused eyes skimming over the ceiling and the bedroom decor. It’s just the two of them. This is Bill, who he’s known for years. Bill just wants to make them both feel good, like he always does. 

To his shock, he feels himself begin to harden again at the continued presence of Bill between his thighs.

He doesn’t say anything because he’s not sure what he would say, but he offers the barest nod and lets his friends tug off his jeans. His skin is hot all over and the cool air feels welcome against his body. Bill braces himself on all fours above him. He retrieves the bottle from his nightstand once more and slicks up his finger.

Bill’s smile is sharp and almost predatory as he begins to tease Dipper’s rim. The area is achingly sensitive, perhaps more so than usual after his orgasm, although Dipper doesn’t have enough experience to say for sure. 

When Bill slides a finger inside, the stretch is a little uncomfortable, but soothed by the ample lubrication. Seemingly without any effort at all he establishes a slow rhythm, keeping his eyes locked on Dipper’s. It’s incredibly embarrassing to bare himself like this and his senses are whirling in overdrive. He  keeps himself silent for as long as possible but when Bill strokes a particularly good spot inside him he can’t help but cry out.

“Does that feel good? Do you want more?” Bill asks, leaning close to Dipper’s face with his eyes half-lidded. He looks like the cat that got the cream, like he’s getting off on this somehow. Dipper can feel Bill’s cock, hard against the inside of his thigh. He unconsciously wraps his legs a little more tightly around Bill’s hips.

“Bill, I’m n-,” he can’t finish because he doesn’t know what to say and it’s surprisingly hard to think with Bill’s finger inside him. 

“Pine Tree, it’s just us.” Bill reassures him. His voice drops in pitch and acquires an unfamiliar husky quality.

He heaves out a shaky sigh. His eyes search the other man’s, looking for answers or for an exit sign. He feels off-center, unseated and turning around a broken axis. His heart is pounding out a desperate rhythm. He’s never been interested in men before, never really considered something this beyond the aftermath of a handful of confusing wet dreams. Finally, he trades the rational side of himself for the side that is hopelessly curious, the side that’s still singing with pleasure at the force of his first orgasm. 

His hesitation is overcome by a sudden rush of desire to live as his friend does, fearless and unashamed. This doesn’t have to mean anything he doesn’t want it to mean. 

“Once.”

The blond nods in affirmation, his drunken expression lighting up as he attempts to find that magical spot inside once more. Once he gets the hang of hitting Dipper’s prostate, he presses forward, urging Dipper to his hands and knees. Face red, Dipper assumes the position and Bill renews the thrusting of his fingers.

He’s moaning in an irregular rhythm now as Bill adds a second finger, and then a third. The stretch is still a little unpleasant and he feels so incredibly  _ filled. _ Still, the moments when Bill strokes that magical place inside him more than make up for the discomfort.

“Think you’re ready?”

Dipper takes a deep breath and nods. This isn’t something he’s capable of verbally acknowledging quite yet, but he knows he’s ready.

He hears the sound of Bill slipping on a condom but he’s unprepared for how it’s going to feel when he trades his fingers for his slick cock. The warmth of his fingers is nothing compared to the heat of his length. He sheathes himself slowly and uncharacteristically quiet, clearly listening for any sounds of discomfort. The sensation of fullness continues to build beyond anything Dipper knows how to process. 

Once Bill is fully seated inside him, he lets out the breath he’s apparently been holding and tries to relax. The action has an immediate effect on Bill, who lets out a hum of pleasure. “Okay to move?” he asks.

Dipper growls out his annoyance, “I’m not some wilting flower, you shit.”

Bill takes this as the affirmation it is and and begins to thrust. He wants to dislike this feeling, wants to hate it with every fiber of his being but the unfortunate truth is that it’s pleasant. It’s not the mind-numbing pleasure of an orgasm but it’s j-

He looses an embarrassingly loud moan as Bill nails his prostate. His cock had lost some of its fullness as he was being filled, but the rhythm of Bill’s thrusts and the occasional brush on his sweet spot have him achingly hard in almost no time at all, still a little sensitive from his first orgasm.

He finds, to his surprise, that he likes the feeling of Bill’s warm chest against his back, blanketing him from the world like he’s being protected. After only a moment of maintaining a stable rhythm, Bill grabs hold of one of Dipper’s legs, spreading his stance little more so that he has better access. He uses the shift in position to more easily fondle at the space between Dipper’s balls and his ass. The flesh is sensitive in a way Dipper doesn’t expect and he moans again, loud enough to wake the dead.

He feels Bill exhale a laugh against the sensitive skin on the back of his neck and even just that much gives him goosebumps.

Soon Bill has enough of fondling and wraps his hand around Dipper’s hardened cock, which is now leaking steadily against his stomach. Dipper protests loudly but his friend will not be swayed.

“I like the way you feel around me when I do…” Bill says simply. “You get so tight.” 

The worst part is that for all Dipper’s verbal protests, every nerve inside him is screaming,  _ more, more, more. _

He isn’t planning to do it, doesn’t even see it coming himself. He doesn’t wait for permission, because Bill wouldn’t have offered him the same courtesy, and also because he doesn’t really know what he’s doing. Instead, he tilts his head back and kisses his best friend squarely on the mouth.

As his own eyes close, he can see Bill’s widen in surprise and everything around him tenses. And then, just like that, Bill is kissing him back, hard and rough and like he means to steal the air from Dipper’s lungs.  _ Please...more…. _ Dipper’s thoughts beg, out of his control now.

Bill flips them over unexpectedly, only to return to the kiss once he has Dipper where he wants him. Apparently the other man prefers him on his back, with his legs wrapped around Bill’s waist. He would have complained but he’s silenced by Bill returning to kiss him again.

Everything in him is aware of the touch, even if he isn’t completely sure  _ what _ exactly is happening. He feels himself getting closer and closer to the edge and he finds that he desperately needs to come again.

“You can do better,” he goads, breathless.

He isn’t sure where the challenge comes from, but fuck if Bill doesn’t rise to it. He twists his hips so that each thrust is hitting Dipper’s prostate, swallowing his gasps like he means to muffle every sound. His pace is punishing and rough and so deliciously good that for a moment Dipper forgets some of his reservations and focuses only on seeking his own pleasure.

When Bill starts to come, the orgasm doesn’t really announce itself, but Bill moans out his name, tensing in his arms and he can  _ feel _ it as Bill’s cock pulses in him. He seems to come for an abnormally long time, his hips pressed flush against Dipper’s ass. 

“Couldn’t hold back, huh?” Dipper says after a beat.

“Don’t look so smug,” Bill shoots back, but his eyes are smiling and he does look slightly sleepy in the wake of his orgasm.

Too fucking bad. Dipper is hard as rock. After Bill carefully extracts himself from Dipper’s ass, he seizes Bill’s hand and urges it to stoke him. Bill huffs out a sated sounding laugh but takes the bait. In no time at all he’s buried the fingers of one hand inside him and the other strokes his cock. The dual avenues of stimulation are completely new for him and Dipper is coming  _ unwound.  _ The worst part is, as nice as that feels, it’s Bill’s rough, challenging kiss, his tongue in his mouth, that sends him hurtling into the land of no return. 

His second orgasm is, somehow no less pleasurable than the first, although it’s accompanied by significantly less come. His own release, both old and new, is scattered across his chest and Bill smirks at the sight when he pulls away. 

He watches as the blond extracts himself from between Dipper’s thighs and leaves the bed. He disappears into the neighboring bathroom, presumably to clean himself up. Dipper can’t remember the last time he came twice in such short succession and the effort has him wiped out. Thankfully, Bill is only mostly inconsiderate, so he takes care of himself first and returns with a warm, dampened washcloth. 

It’s uncomfortable to allow his friend to watch him cleaning off the evidence of his recent pleasure, but when he’s done Bill takes the washcloth and disposes of it. He moves over to his dresser and retrieves a pair of pajama pants, sliding into them and tossing another pair to Dipper.

The gesture feels almost comical given everything they’d just done but Dipper is grateful for it nonetheless. He tugs on the pants and, with great effort, begins to sit up. His action is met with a rougher-than-strictly-necessary shove from Bill, who pushes him back on the bed.

“I never kick out a lady during the afterglow,” Bill says, which is as close to an invitation to stay as he’s going to give.

It’s almost 4am now, their little adventure having taken up the better part of an hour. Dipper is exhausted, his bones feel like jelly, and Bill is an asshole but his bed is warm. He ignores the voice in his head that says this is a bad idea in favor of the voice that tells him in no uncertain terms that he’ll be asleep in two minutes if given half the chance.

Finally, he tucks himself beneath the covers. He feels the other side of the bed depress as Bill sits down, and then situates himself as well. Bill’s bed is spacious and he can feel the heat of another body nearby, but they aren’t touching. He thinks that’s probably for the best.

The silence stretches out for a moment, so long that Dipper is on the verge of finally sinking into sleep when he hears Bill say: “Thanks for the helping hand, Pine Tree.”

His lips twitch into the barest hint of a smile. “Fuck off, Bill.”

**Author's Note:**

> nobody asked for this and i am indeed sorry
> 
>  
> 
> [i'm on tumblr committing further atrocities in the vein of shitposts](http://www.pinescipher.tumblr.com)


End file.
